they sow


tryst, fight their woes with burgundy
bleach their teeth in lies
romanticize their plight
and fantasize in yellow


hyacinths, basking under an indifferent sun
beached on a grassy knoll
the sun will take its toll
while the pull of the promise precedes


this, an isolated chastised moment
a finger wagging sharp
between two eyebrows barred
and scarred, from raising at another


bliss, it's neither here no there
but lies in shoulderblades
a soft skin for a stage
a play, put on by fingers


indeterminate, so it's not needed
so the deep sky doesn't fall
down so hard at night and call
pshaw, you were soiled ten degrees



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